


Sawmill Sleet

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fandom Stocking 2013, Fluff, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medic returns from a rainy day at Sawmill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sawmill Sleet

**Author's Note:**

> I did this in fandom_stocking for Hannah a while ago, but I forgot to archive it. The prompt was: Moments of downtime with either RED or BLU, during or after the war, with the team genuinely enjoying the company everyone else provides.

The constant rain of Sawmill had streaked the blood down his coat, with a drip of damp water over his skin. Thankfully, the Australium powered bleach would make his clothes look good as new, and a trip to the infirmary would ensure he didn't get sick. He personally didn't mind the bloodstains so much, but people tended to wonder, and he'd learned the hard way that walking into town while covered in blood was a good way to get himself thrown out on a rail...again.

No other mercenaries were in the room save for Heavy, who sat in the dim light of a lamp. A thick red wool blanket was folded beside his chair, and three cups of tea were on the end table beside him, one filled with crumbs—Archimedes did so love to dunk food in his drinks.

Heavy pushed up his glasses and considered him, the book dwarfed by his massive hands. 

"You will get chill, doctor," he scolded gently.

"Oh, this? Ja, I'm about to change out, anyways."

Heavy nodded. Archimedes had perched on his shoulder, like he was reading along with him. Medic peeled off his soaked clothes. Ruddy brown wet footprints stained the floor as he stripped off each article. It'd hardly be the first time he helped ruin the fort—at this rate, they weren't even trying to patch up every bullet hole an angry mercenary had contributed to the fort.

Dressed and scrubbed down, Medic returned to the living room. Several coos greeted him, though no doves flew near. They'd grown to prefer Heavy in the end, the little traitors.

Heavy patted his lap, book laid aside for a moment. Archimedes stirred, his feathers fluffed, but did not fly off. The blanket was unfolded and waiting.

Medic took the steps to warmth, to Heavy's arms and the comfort of a strong pair of arms on a cold day. The wool blanket around him was scratchy, but he didn't mind so much. He was used to rubbing his face against rough stubble, after all. 

"There, now you will not get chill," Heavy said.

"Will you read to me?" Medic said.

"Is in Russian," Heavy said.

"I've learned enough to almost be fluent," Medic reminded him.

Heavy's smile was so unfettered and warm, his voice so filled with pride as he began to read. Medic laid his head on Heavy's solid chest, the heart he'd helped assemble and craft beat so loud that he could hear it clearer than the distant thunder.


End file.
